Here we are, back in Krakow, staying at the Mosquito Hostel. Definitely not a business name that someone from, say, Alberta or Manitoba would choose. It’s a nice facility, though. You’d never know it from its street appearance.
When our taxi pulled up, we stepped onto the street and unloaded our suitcases in front of a heavy metal brown door. To the left of the door stood two elderly women selling winter sweaters that they draped over their arms. On the right side stood two more women – one was selling wee bottles of hard liquor that teetered precariously on a wooden crate, and the other peddled an armload of brassieres. I wonder what would happen if someone tried to earn a living doing that while standing outside a Comfort Inn, or some such hotel, in Canada?
Once we entered the building, the young man at the desk informed us that there had been a mistake. Gene had apparently reserved a room with a private bath. Unfortunately, someone else had reserved the same room before he had and the attendant hadn’t registered it in the computer. Oh well. We lose. That means we’ll stay in the same room that we slept in last summer, sharing a common bathroom down the hall with people about 30 years younger than ourselves. We feel like Grandma and Grandpa in this place, but it’s close to the train station, fairly new, and clean. All is well. Flexibility is the key. We outta here by 6:30 tomorrow morning anyway, headed for Slovakia on a 9-hour train ride.